


Sooner or Later

by thinkoutsidethebex



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-22
Updated: 2019-12-22
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:27:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21895879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thinkoutsidethebex/pseuds/thinkoutsidethebex
Summary: Bucky is adjusting to a life post Blip, and decides to go it alone.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Reader
Comments: 3
Kudos: 16





	Sooner or Later

_Line up the shot. Deep breath in. Keep centered. Deep breath out._

“пусть Бог помилует твою душу.”

As soon as the shot from his rifle pierced the air, Bucky began to pack up. He didn’t need to make sure he’d hit his mark. The last time he missed a shot he still had both of his arms. HYRDA training was good for something it seemed.

Gathering his gear and the casing from his bullet, Bucky wiped down the ledge and kicked at the gravel on the rooftop. Anyone who happened to find the spot he fired from wouldn’t be able to figure out where he’d been when he took the shot. Chancing a glance over his shoulder, he saw flashing lights speeding toward his victim. He let out a soft laugh. The lengths people went to in order to cling to the smallest shred of hope never ceased to amaze him. At 1500 meters away he couldn’t make out the expressions on the paramedic’s faces, but he could see the crimson painting the snow and the falter in the steps of the rescuers, and that told him all he needed to know.

With a swift kick, Bucky knocked down the cinderblock holding open the door and bounded down the stairs. The building was all but abandoned except a few squatters camped out on the ground floor. This part of town was the area people told others to avoid, but that was the last thing Bucky was worried about. Fewer people meant fewer complications. His feet hit the bottom of the stairs and he made for the door, tugging on a baseball cap and preparing to vanish into the crowd on the subway, just like he was trained to do.

“Was that you?” someone asked. Bucky froze and turned his head. An old man sat along the far wall wrapped in a blanket to fight the December chill. Bucky regarded him silently.

“It’s been a long time but I don’t think I can ever forget the sound of a sniper rifle,” the old man said. “I still remember every shot I took. Every life I took. At the time I told myself I was just following orders. Just doing what needed to be done to get me and the boys back home. Now, I think a part of me must have liked it. If I didn’t, all these ghosts wouldn’t follow me around.” He turned his head and locked eyes with Bucky, who was still frozen in his spot.

“Son, don’t make the same mistakes I did. Sooner or later, the sins of the past make their way back.” His eyes pleaded with Bucky, and for a moment he wanted to stay and talk. He wanted to tell the old man about all the things he’d done and hear his stories. The feeling quickly passed, and Bucky steeled himself and slipped quietly from the building.

It took Bucky longer than he cared to admit to shake off the old man’s words. Being haunted wasn’t anything new to him. Ever since Shuri had removed the Winter Soldier programming and his memories had come back, the faces of the people he’d killed followed him everywhere. They were the reason he’d stayed with the Avengers after Steve went back. The decades he’d spent as a weapon made him want to help as many people as he could. He was still a weapon, but now he was being used for good. A first step toward penance.

And he tried. He really tried. But after the Blip- _God, what a stupid name,_ he thought-the UN and every major governing body around the world had doubled down on litigation and red-tape when it came to enhanced people. Sam joked that it was the Sokovia Accords on steroids. Any move the Avengers took was preempted by committee meetings and formal requests. Half the time once they got cleared to go in, it was too late. After the tenth time they lost people to the government dragging its heels, Bucky couldn’t take it anymore. He packed his things and left the Avengers without so much as a goodbye note, determined to take matters into his own hands.

The first year had been the hardest. He didn’t have access to the team’s resources, so he’d had to rely on mainstream news and word of mouth. Tracking down criminals in New York proved to be more difficult than he’d thought, but eventually, he’d found them. One by one, he watched them fall; murders, rapists, crime bosses. He never killed someone without hard evidence that they’d hurt people. They were the same people the Avengers would go after, only he could do it without the red-tape. Every kill was precise, cold, and quick. Before every one, he said the same thing.

“пусть Бог помилует твою душу.”

“May God have mercy on your soul.”

It wasn’t that he was particularly religious. It was more of a taunt. Even if he took stock of Heaven and Hell and all that, there weren’t the kind of people who inspired mercy. If there was a God, he wouldn’t be merciful with the scum Bucky sent him.

For a time, the other Avengers tried to find him. Well, most of them anyway. Every time he spotted them looking for him, Natasha was blatantly missing. She knew better than any of them that if Bucky didn’t want to be found, he wouldn’t be. That was the point of the Winter Soldier program, after all. Blend in. Hide in plain sight. Removing the brainwashing hadn’t removed the training, so Bucky decided he’d put it to good use. He moved from place to place, not staying anywhere for too long. The team tried to keep up, but eventually, they all realized the futility in it and left him alone. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t a little hurt at how quickly they gave up, but it was better this way.

Fewer people meant fewer complications.

It wasn’t until he found himself back in New York that things changed.

Three years had passed since Bucky left the Avengers. The city looked the same as he’d left it, but he was so much different. He came back tracking some assassin who called herself Typhoid Mary. She had nearly lost him in Japan, but he caught wind of her and made his way back home. The second he stepped off the plane, however, he was met by a man who introduced himself as the Immortal Iron Fist. He assured Bucky he’d handle her, and the second Bucky tried to protest, the Iron Fist’s fist started to glow threateningly. The last thing he wanted was another super fight in an airport, so he backed down.

“Everybody’s got a gimmick,” he mumbled, walking away.

That was the day everything changed. That was the day you walked into Bucky Barnes’ life.

He found the closest bar to the airport and tossed himself into a booth. Attempting to get drunk a fruitless endeavor, but damn if he wouldn’t give it a try.

You appeared at his shoulder, like the angel you were, and asked for his order. A rosary hung from your order book, well-worn and clearly something you coveted. He was so taken aback by how unbelievably beautiful you were that he answered you in Russian.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I don’t…” you stammered, looking around. “Let me see if anyone here can help.”

“No. Sorry. It…I speak English,” he finally managed. You sighed and smiled.

“Oh, thank goodness. I wasn’t even sure what language that was.” You giggled, and Bucky was sure he’d never heard a more magnificent sound. He smiled the first genuine smile in years.

“It was Russian,” he said.

“And where does a Brooklyn boy like you pick up Russian?” Bucky’s face fell slightly. Did you know who he was? Of course you did. Everyone did by now. He was stupid to think the Winter Soldier was something he could ever run from.

“I grew up in Flatbush,” you said, sending the battle in his mind to a screeching halt. “I can clock a Brooklyn kid from a mile away.” You smiled brightly at him, and Bucky was overcome with the desire to know everything he possibly could about you.

“I’m Bucky,” he blurted out.

“Y/N,” you replied. “So, what’ll it be Bucky?”

Drinks at your bar turned into dinner at the restaurant next door. That turned into breakfast the next morning and before either of you knew it, six months had passed. Bucky tried to stay away from you, but the more he did the more he realized he couldn’t. He was surprised at how easy it was to fall in love with you. He’d spent a lifetime building up walls around him, and then you appeared with a sledgehammer and knocked them all down.

He told you who he really was after your third date. Technically, it was still your first date since you hadn’t left each other’s sides, but that wasn’t important. Nobody outside of the Avengers knew his whole story, but he actually wanted you to know. You were the first person he met that he didn’t want to lie to. You listened as he told you his tale, and by the end you had your arms thrown around his neck, sobbing and apologizing for all he’d been through. He chuckled softly to himself. Of course you apologized. You had nothing to do with it-hell you weren’t even alive for most of it-but like the angel you were, you wanted to make it better. To make him better. And what was even more astonishing than you wanting to, was that he wanted to let you try.

Bucky kept working, if that’s what you could call it, but he kept himself close to home. To you. If he had to leave town, it was no longer than a week. You knew whatever he was doing wasn’t good. Oftentimes he came home cut up and bleeding, and more than once smelling like he’d run through a burning building. You never asked questions though. You cleaned his wounds and patched him up, and said soft prayers over him, hoping the next time would be the last.

When he was home, the two of you were inseparable. You spent every waking moment together and slept wrapped in each other’s arms. Every Sunday, you dragged him out of bed to mass, the rosary he’d seen the day he met you clutched in your hands. He protested at first, partly because being in bed with you was his favorite place, and partly because he didn’t want to face a church full of people staring at him. _Judge not, lest ye be judged_ seemed to be something the church crowd threw out the window when an ex-assassin walked in. The biggest reason was that he didn’t see the point. During the war, and in all the years after, he’d spent countless hours praying and begging God to help him. He’d prayed to be found, to be saved, to be spared the endless agony he endured every day. But nothing changed. His prayers fell on deaf ears, if the ears were even there to begin with. So he’d given up on God. When he told you this, you simply took his hand and dragged him out the door.

“Just because you’ve given up on God doesn’t mean God’s given up on you.”

Trudging down the street now, bracing against the bitter December air, those words echoed in Bucky’s ears, along with those of the old man. He knew the things he did weren’t right, or exactly moral, but he also knew if he didn’t do them, more people would die. He wondered if God could tell the difference.

Sighing, he opened the door to your apartment. You were sitting on the couch waiting for him, rosary clutched in your hands. Spread out on the coffee table was his collection of guns, knives, and other various tools of his trade. You looked up when he came in, eyes red-rimmed and puffy. He dropped his bag and walked hesitantly toward you.

“I um…I was looking in the closet for wrapping paper,” you said, wiping your eyes. “I thought there might be some in the chest.” He sat next to you on the couch, and you shifted nervously next to him. It was the first time you’d ever been nervous around him, and that fact wasn’t lost on either of you.

“James,” you breathed. “Wh-what is all this?” Bucky hung his head and sighed. He’d hoped this day wouldn’t come but here it was, slapping him in the face.

“This is my work,” he said flatly. “What I do when I’m not here.” You drew in a shuddering breath and wiped your eyes. He felt you turn to look at him but he kept his head down.

“Do you kill people?” you asked bluntly. Slowly, he nodded. “Why?”

“Because if I don’t more people will die,” he answered. You scoffed and stood up.

“So that makes it okay for you to kill them?” you scoffed, walking to the other side of the room. “There…there are people who deal with these types of things, James. The police, the Avengers-“

“You think I don’t know that?” he snapped, finally looking up. “I was one of them. I tried to do things their way and do you know what happened? People died. Innocent people. Women and children. At least my way the people who die deserve it.”

“Who are you to decide who deserves to die?” you shouted, whipping around to face him. “What gives you the right to be judge, jury, and executioner?” Tears poured down your face and your rosary swung from your hands. Before Bucky could respond, his phone dinged loudly. He dug it out of his pocket and looked at the message.

 **Unknown number:** Got a line on Mary. Could use backup. Meet me at the abandoned warehouse near Calvert Vaux Park at 11.

He sighed and stood up, tucking his phone away.

“Baby, I gotta go,” he said.

“James, don’t. Please,” you begged. “Stay here with me. Stop all this, please.” You walked over to him and took his hands in yours. Your eyes were bloodshot and you clung to him desperately. More than anything, he wanted to say yes. He wanted to have a life and grow old with you, to raise babies and fall more in love with you every day. And for a moment he let himself believe that he could. The life he so desperately wanted was right in from of him, finally within his reach. His heart hammered in his chest as he slowly dropped your hands. People like James Buchannan Barnes didn’t get happy endings.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered and kissed your forehead. “I can’t.” He walked over to the table and started to gather guns and knives as he heard you drop to your knees. Guilt ripped through him and he willed himself to keep his eyes on his task.

“You know I pray for you?” you murmured. “Every time you leave. I never know where you’re going but I always pray that you’ll come home to me.” You sniffled and turned to look at Bucky, whose back was still to you.

“You can’t keep doing this James,” you said softly. “Sooner or later your sins will find their way back to you.” Your words cut through Bucky like a knife and he froze in his tracks.

“What did you just say?” he whispered. Slowly, you got to your feet and stumbled toward him.

“Please, baby,” you pleaded. “Stay with me. I’ll…I’ll help you get rid of all of this. I’ll pray with you. For you. Just please, please don’t go.” Your hands gripped his shoulders and your eyes searched his for any signs of his concession. After what seemed like an eternity, he sighed and looked down.

“This is something I have to do,” he finally said. With the knowledge that what he was about to do would cost him everything, Bucky stepped away and headed for the door.

“I can’t promise I’ll be here waiting for you when you come back,” you said flatly. Your voice stopped him with his hand on the doorknob. Panic and fear clutched at his heart as he turned for one last look at you.

“I love you,” he said softly. Sobs ripped through you as he walked out the door.

At 11PM, Bucky was creeping into an old abandoned warehouse. At 11:15PM, he was lying face-up in a snowbank, blood leaking from his body. The warehouse was rigged with explosives, and the second he walked in they’d gone off. He rushed in, still keyed up over losing you. He was sloppy. And now, he was dying.

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t the famous Winter Soldier.” Blinking blood from his eyes, Bucky turned his head. A man was advancing, gun in his hand. Bucky didn’t even try and move, knowing he couldn’t even if he wanted to.

“I have to admit, I thought you’d be tougher to take down. One tiny tripwire and Barnes is down for the count.” Bucky coughed harshly and blood shot out and dotted the snow around him. His vision started to blur and his eyes rolled back slightly. He watched as his killer knelt next to him.

“Any last words?”

Bucky let his head roll to the side and spotted something lying next to him; your rosary. You must have hidden it in one of his pockets before he left. He smiled slightly as he felt the cold metal press against his temple.

“пусть Бог помилует мою душу,” Bucky whispered, as the gunshot that finally ended his long life echoed through the air.

пусть Бог помилует твою душу – may god have mercy on your soul  
пусть Бог помилует мою душу – may god have mercy on my soul


End file.
